


After I Had Lived

by LaceKyoko1138



Series: Mokuba the Depressed Millennial [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), College, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Sequel, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceKyoko1138/pseuds/LaceKyoko1138
Summary: Mokuba Kaiba skips school to seek advice from Grandpa Mutou. His brother, Seto, intervenes, and the two have a conversation on their upbringing and futures.





	After I Had Lived

**Author's Note:**

> While I wonder where the hell _The Koto Player_ is going and struggle for progressing _Carbohydrate Father_ I decide to post a fic that was originally posted on FFNET in February 2012. There was minimal editing for this one. Like, I think I changed an adverb and took out a phrase. That's it. You're welcome to find the original on fanfiction but for now, feel free to read this nearly 6k word long fic of the Kaiba Brothers arguing.
> 
> Note: This is a sequel to another fic called _Before I Was Born_ that is on FFNET, but I am going to, uh, "remaster" it since I don't really like some of my choices used for it. Look for that in the future.
> 
> I actually wrote like the first half of this on a notecard while in my own college biology class back in the day. No, I'm not a biology major. My Associate's is in Liberal Arts, and I plan on getting my BFA in Sound Design in the future. But ya know. College is expensive.

Mokuba Kaiba clicked his mechanical pencil impatiently, watching the thin graphite snake its way further and further out of the plastic. The old man at the front was droning on about proteins and polypeptides and the various functional groups of hydrocarbons. Mokuba wanted to die. Being kidnapped by a magnanimous megalomaniac was much more exciting than being bored to death by an elderly biology professor. He secretly wished he _had_ taken those advanced courses outside of his public school education, taken those tests, and placed out of those _very_ basic college classes. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the money to pay for ¥4500 tests; quite the contrary. Seto insisted. He hadn’t gone to college because it was unnecessary for _him_. He was already a billionaire and a super genius; he didn’t need a piece of paper to prove that.

But Mokuba ignored his brother and continued to be the playboy that he was. The Kaiba brothers were complete opposites; any cruelty Mokuba tried to emulate was mimicry in its essence. Mokuba was too sweet at heart to mean it. Seto, however, _was_ cruel. Mokuba knew that firsthand. However, Seto _did_ have a heart, and he frequently showed that to his brother, albeit through his education.

Mokuba, sick of the boredom, closed his binder sharply and stuck it in his book bag. The teacher had moved on to hydrolysis but Mokuba paid no heed. He left for his sanity’s sake. He stepped lightly down the staircase, his stomach gurgling for food. He sighed and stepped into the college’s small and overpriced café. He asked for a chocolate macchiato, the substitute for his childhood favorite, chocolate parfait. As he waited for the barista to finish his drink, he grabbed a pre-made sandwich, paid for both the beverage and food and briskly walked out.

He looked around the commons. At 15:29 in the afternoon, there was not a soul in the place and he easily found a seat. He chewed slowly on his sandwich, not caring for its taste, but grateful for its sustenance, and sipped his coffee quietly. He contemplated on where his life was going.

He chose the undecided category for a major. Though Seto said that a business degree would be in his best interest, Mokuba waved it aside. Economics was horrifically dull, fairly easy, and he would sooner elope with a Kuriboh than bother studying business, economics, _and_ accounting. It wasn’t in his interests.

Mokuba loved the arts. He wanted to pursue them. He was interested in them ever since he could remember, the one time it having prominence when his brother was exhausted from being forced to study and received a poorly drawn Blue Eyes White Dragon from the younger sibling. He had always loved to draw, and he was glad that his childish rendition of the beast made his brother happy.

Seto, though none would believe it, had a talent for drawing as well. He had a keen eye for detail and could easily draw an in depth diagram of the human cell. But that was all. Seto had _technical_ drawing capabilities, the kind that scientists and computer programmers and architects typically had. Seto did design most of Kaiba Corp’s theme parks and buildings after all. That hardly made Seto an artist. He did not have an artist’s soul or temperament. Thus, Seto didn’t share Mokuba’s love. Seto had extensive knowledge of everything, including art, but since that rarely ever mattered to Kaiba Corp, the information was stored in a file cabinet somewhere in the recesses of the elder brother’s brain.

As Mokuba inhaled the rich aroma of the coffee, he felt an enormous wave of melancholy come over him and sighed. He had told Seto about his interest. He wanted to study at a fancy art college in either Europe or America to pursue a graphic art degree. This would be beneficial to Kaiba Corp… The design and advertising teams that is. And they were hardly the niche for the VP!

But Mokuba liked to think that, in this way, he could be even more innovative than his brother if possible. He had a good knowledge of technology thanks to Seto, and clearly he was a creative, friendly individual. But all of that meant nothing. He knew he couldn’t be half the CEO his brother was. Mokuba was a spoiled brat, a playboy, and even impish at times. How could such… a _child_ run one of the most famous and successful companies in the world?

Mokuba crushed the Styrofoam cup in his hand, the coffee long gone. He threw it away and left the building.

Because his schedule was so unpredictable (and because he enjoyed leaving class halfway through), Mokuba requested to have a car so he could drive himself to school. He _could_ have walked like the common folk, but really now. This was _Kaiba_ Mokuba. As garrulous Mokuba was, he also wanted privacy away from the public. So Seto agreed, because his affluence made a nonsense of the regulations, had Mokuba earn his license (the one rule he couldn’t screw) and helped Mokuba buy a car. Seto wanted something safe yet not a Jalopy, but Mokuba refused any of the flashy cars. He settled for a violently violet Honda Fit. Seto rolled his eyes at the time, mostly because it reminded him of that one member of the Yuugi-tachi, but also at his brother’s fiscal consciousness. Mokuba didn’t care. It was the car of his dreams.

He decided against immediately going home since that would be a dead giveaway of his skipping class, so he opted for Yuugi’s grandpa’s shop. He drove precariously and took sharp turns and made hard stops. He _did_ just get his license a few months ago. When he parked, the brakes and tire axles screeched at their rough treatment. He stepped out, shut the door and strolled into the shop so familiarly.

“Welcome to the Kame Game Shop,” said Mutou Sugoroku. Upon seeing Mokuba, his face brightened. “Ah, Mokuba, my favorite Kaiba.”

Mokuba knew this to be true. After what Seto had done so many years ago, there was no doubt he was the favorite. He was simply a people person. “Good afternoon, Mutou-san.”

“What brings you to my game shop? Aren’t you in school now?” He looked at Mokuba with a knowing smile on his face. “Are you skipping? You kids…” He rolled his eyes, probably thinking of how Yuugi used to skip class occasionally for things. “You’re nothing like your brother.”

“You’re right. Seto didn’t even bother with college,” Mokuba groused. Sugoroku took note of the cold edge in Mokuba’s voice. _He seems upset by his sibling_ , he mused to himself.

He cleared his throat, hoping to clear the awkward air. “What can I help you with Mokuba?” the elder man asked.

“I think I’m having a mid-life crisis,” the teen deadpanned. Sugoroku laughed.

“My boy, I’ve had quite a few of those, but I doubt…” Sugoroku stopped himself. Why was he about to say he doubted Mokuba could have one? Mokuba was a person and despite he wasn’t nearly as advanced in years as the grandfather, he still had worries, fears, problems and tragedies. He was perfectly capable of having a crisis in his life, mid-life or not. For wasn’t all life simply stuck in the middle, always hurdling towards the future, leaving behind the trailing past?

“Forget what I was about to say,” Sugoroku amended at Mokuba’s sharp glance. “Why do you say that, Mokuba?”

The younger Kaiba brother released a sigh, staring at the too clean floor that held a very opaque reflection. He looked so tired and sad. He wished his brother understood him. He knew Seto loved him but love wasn’t always enough. Seto had helped him through everything, even his attempted suicide. Mokuba had gone to rehab to try and fix his brain, but all the rehab in the world couldn’t imitate brotherly love and acceptance. His recovery was entirely a sham. Even though Seto was attentive to him, it seemed so forced, like a farce. He doubted his brother meant even half the energy he put into Mokuba.

“A few years ago,” Mokuba began, a bit nervous since he wasn’t sure if Sugoroku knew this side of him, “I attempted suicide.” He held back the tears that contained each and every last memory of that time. He wondered where Yuugi and his friends were, hoping they’d barge in so he wouldn’t have to relive the nightmare. He continued on, knowing real life offered no such reprieves. “I felt that my brother would have been happier without me, seeing that I caused nearly every bad thing to happen to him. I felt that, no matter what, he’s never really accepted me.”

Sugoroku placed a hand on Mokuba’s thin shoulder, the shoulders that looked nothing like his brother’s. “What made you think that? Your brother loves you more than I’ve ever seen anyone love another being. You should be so happy.” Mokuba was surprised to hear those words from Sugoroku, since Seto had destroyed the man’s health and his most prized possession. But that was the difference between people who were not Seto Kaiba. Seto rarely, in fact, _never_ forgave anything, but this old man, who almost _died_ thanks to Seto, whose rarest card was torn to bits, spoke kindly of him. Perhaps he was merely humoring Mokuba with those words. Who could forgive such cruelty? Even Mokuba, who once idolized his brother, found it hard to forgive certain things. After all, his _brother_ was the reason why he skipped, why he was moping so pathetically to a man he almost never saw. How could _Yuugi’s grandfather_ say such kind things about the damndest CEO when Mokuba could only vent and complain about how Seto doesn’t understand? This _brother_ , though he claimed he only had affection for Mokuba, personified the Blue Eyes White Dragon, _a trading card._ Ishizu and the other Ishtars and even Yuugi could explain all they wanted about Seto’s past and how he had a super hot dragon girlfriend, but that didn’t mean Seto had to have such an infatuation with simply the likeness of the soul of the girl his incarnate once loved. This _brother_ had beaten him in front of five elderly men who probably molested children in private so therefore they probably enjoyed Mokuba’s treatment, had a hard on for technology, and sometimes said the utmost cruelest things to whomever so much as breathed wrong. What the hell did Jonouchi do to Seto to form such a strange and strangely mollifying hatred that consisted of calling each other names, the likes of what schoolchildren did? Seto was just an _asshole._

Mokuba instantly felt ashamed. Seto did everything for him, though Mokuba still believed it was for the sake of their lost parents.

Mokuba shrugged away from Sugoroku, more upset now. “I thought I was just an obligation. To make our dead parents happy.” A single tear found its way down his left cheek.

Sugoroku nodded. “I see this chat is more serious than I initially thought. Come sit down with me in the living room. I’ll make some tea or coffee…?” He was unsure of Mokuba’s preference.

“Actually, if you have it, hot cocoa would be awesome,” Mokuba commented, a sad smile on his face. The renegade tear found its way into his mouth and he tasted the salty brine. He didn’t respond to it though. “I haven’t had any since I was fourteen.”

“Why is that?” Sugoroku chuckled, expecting a humorous reply. Mokuba followed him into the kitchen.

“Because Seto said I was too old.”

Sugoroku mentally flinched. It was odd hearing the youngest Kaiba, who once idolized his elder brother, speak of said ex-idol so harshly. It was clear that, even though they only had each other, the Kaiba brothers had moments where even they became irritated. It was quite clear; Seto even infuriated his brother sometimes. Sugoroku made hot chocolate as Mokuba vented.

“Who the hell says someone is too old for hot chocolate?! Seriously, it’s a _beverage_. Who cares?” Mokuba crossed his arms crossly, leaning against the counter.

“I suppose your brother wants you to be as mature as he is,” Sugoroku cautiously advised, not wanting to step on any toes. His initial thought was that he assumed Seto wanted Mokuba to be as bitter as he. But Sugoroku shook that away, not believing Seto could be so cruel to his own brother.

But what Sugoroku didn’t know was that during his hospitalization during Death-T, Seto had forced Mokuba, who was a tender eleven years old, to undergo the punishment game, consisting of holographic images so real of monsters attempting to eat the little boy’s tender flesh. Mokuba remembered this clearly, and remembered how it was _Yuugi_ , or maybe his alter ego, who saved him. Mokuba loved Seto, but even his love then didn’t reach his brother’s cold heart.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure Seto just wants me to be as mad at the world as he is,” he harrumphed. “It’s totally working.”

Sugoroku stayed quiet, focusing on adding marshmallows and whipped cream to the hot drinks. He stirred his own slowly, gathering his thoughts as he waited for Mokuba to continue.

Mokuba sighed, his breath whisking the steam away. “I think if Seto ditched his ego and pride, and embraced Yuugi’s offer of friendship, he’d give up on making me miserable. Sometimes I think that, instead of humoring Seto’s obsession to beat him, if Yuugi just said, ‘Hey, yo, shut up and listen’ and maybe slapped some sense into Seto, or even get Jonouchi to do the beating, Seto would stop being the obsessive, psychopathic sociopath that our adopted dad made him.” He sipped the drink, not caring it scalded his tongue and dismissing that he already had a sugary beverage earlier.

“You know, Seto _does_ want to be friends with Yuugi and the gang,” he added, hoping to both spark interest and wreak revenge on Seto. “He just won’t allow himself. It’s why he just turns away whenever one of them attempts to court his friendship.”

Sugoroku was indeed intrigued. “Why do you think that, Mokuba? He certainly goes about it the wrong way.” He remembered the hidden treasure near the front of the shop, behind the register, ripped in half by the manic and surly CEO.

“It explains everything really. Without Atem in the picture, Seto has nothing but the company to live for now. I sometimes see him reach for his deck and then mutter something about Atem being gone, therefore there’s no purpose to duel Yuugi. And he’s been even grouchier towards Jonouchi ever since. I think Seto wants to be friends but doesn’t know how, or maybe he was conditioned to believe he doesn’t need friends.” He had no idea really what Gozaburo had done. He just knew that Seto did have scars.

“Mokuba, how utterly ridiculous is that notion,” said the friendless, sour CEO, appearing from the depths of nothing. “You know I don’t have empathy for fools.”

Mokuba stood, flabbergasted, instantly guilty. “Seto-!”

“I heard enough Mokuba.” He turned to the elderly man. “I thank you for looking after my wayward brother, but please refrain from interfering with family affairs.”

“Mokuba came to me,” Sugoroku retorted, “and asked for my help. Even if it isn’t my business, I cannot deny the request of a child.” He patted Mokuba on the shoulder. “Perhaps you aren’t such a child, Mokuba. I’m sorry I wasn’t any further help. You are always welcome here.”

The kid nodded. “Thanks again, Mutou-san.”

“Let’s go,” hissed Seto, all business as usual.

The limo sat parked outside, the engine still rumbling. Both Kaibas entered, both rather sulkily.

“I can’t believe you skipped class.”

“I can’t believe you tracked me down!” Mokuba replied, scathingly. “How the hell did you even manage that?!”

“Language,” Seto warned. He sighed. “I don’t trust many things Mokuba, but the one thing I do trust is technology. I personally implanted a tracking device into your car.” He responded so coolly. “I know precisely where you’ve been,” which meant Seto knew about the parties at the art galleries and galas and house parties and the nights Mokuba spent with friends of quite the variable background. He could then assume the narcotics Mokuba partook in, the scent of the perfumes Mokuba inhaled, and the not-so-legal beverages Mokuba drank. He probably knew about how Mokuba lied about retiring early to bed, and how he snuck out to bid Anzu a last farewell at her going away party when she left for New York. Many thought Seto let Mokuba hang with Yuugi and his friends, but those were rumors at best. Seto had Mokuba on a tight leash. It’s what happens when your brother is kidnapped two thousand seven hundred-eighty times.

“I know everything, Mokuba, so don’t bother lying.” Seto coldly uttered. “Though I may not know what _you_ did at 1-2-3 Fujioka, Senpai-ku, 5-4-6 Haruka, Chihiro-ku, or 7-6-8 Fudo, Yami-ku, all at the postal code 879-4563, I can gather that the activities you may have participated in were illicit at best.”

Mokuba rolled his eyes. “In recent years, bro, you’ve been ignoring me. I understand you want me to have the life you were denied but you can’t just expect me to accept a college education so willingly.”

“What’s to expect? There are thousands who have to sell kidneys, sell their bodies, rely on the government or apply to scholarships with astronomically high standards that cannot pay for college, some don’t even bother, and _you_ , who simply needed to fill out an application because money is nothing, chose a community college and ends up skipping class. You’re being ungrateful, Mokuba.” Seto wasn’t too far off. Yes, there were people out there doing anything possible to pay for college and Mokuba shrugged it off.

But Seto was wrong on one account.

“Seto, I didn’t get accepted to Tokyo U. My scores and grades weren’t high enough. The community college just seemed easier…”

Seto sighed in annoyance. “If you’d have studied-”

“I didn’t even want to go! It was pointless and I’d be living my life just to fulfill a GPA! I’m not _you_ Seto. I’m not a scholar. I’m an artist…”

“Mokuba,” Seto seethed, low and quiet. “You will be miserable as an artist. You will have little funds, little resources, and you will live a sub-human existence until your dying breath. Perhaps I’m being harsh, but I know I speak the truth.”

“Speaking of sub-human existences,” Mokuba spoke darkly, “You sound just like Gozaburo, Seto.” Seto didn’t even flinch, but his rigid state let Mokuba know he had struck a nerve.

Mokuba’s nonchalant manner came back. “Anyway, I’m Kaiba Mokuba. I don’t need to worry about money.”

Seto laughed, a dark, malicious laughter that probably came from the dark feelings he harbored for Gozaburo. “You think you’ll still have access to the Kaiba fortune?”

Mokuba looked stunned. “Well, yeah…”

“Mokuba, though I do not covet my fortune, I do not want it squandered by my playboy brother. If you want nothing to do with Kaiba Corp, then you will be excommunicated.”

Mokuba’s entire face fell. He had no idea his brother, who loved Mokuba with every fiber of his being supposedly, could actually lay down the law on said younger brother. “I never said I wanted-”

“Mokuba, just finish college. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.” Seto said with more force.

“I won’t.” Mokuba was steadfast.

“Don’t act like a petulant child.” Seto rolled his eyes. Mokuba noted the irony.

The limo stopped. They were home.

Neither Kaiba moved though.

“Stop playing around, Mokuba. Just finish your Associates degree and be done with it. It’s more than I’ll have.” Seto seemed far off, almost melancholy that he denied himself the chance for college. Not that Seto needed it. He could probably have his Master’s in Business by the end of the month, but it wasn’t necessary for him. But for someone like Mokuba, who had seen a dark side of the world but was too young to remember, needed college to hopefully find himself. The parties could help him learn who to trust and who to avoid, but the college classes would be safer. That was why Seto wanted Mokuba to go to college. He didn’t care if Mokuba got a degree in underwater basket weaving. So long as he had the experience to find himself, then Seto would be happy. It was a far better option than being beaten half to death and studying for hours without even an hour’s worth of sleep, like he had to endure with Gozaburo. Of course, Gozaburo was hardly a parent to either. He wasn’t training an heir, he was training a machine, and some felt he had done a good job at that.

But Seto didn’t ask for that, and he definitely didn’t want that to happen to his baby brother. Mokuba had options that were never even mentioned to Seto.

Clearly, the younger brother was too naïve to realize this.

“Seto,” Mokuba breathed, upset, “I hate it. I _hate_ it. Just let me live my life.”

“I want to Mokuba, but I also want you to have a strong foundation to live on.” With that double-entendre, Seto exited the limo.

Mokuba sat for a while in the limo, blowing a tuft of hair from his face. “What did Seto mean by that?” He scowled after his brother, but then collected his things and exited too. He decided he’d go up to his room and maybe draw or paint. Or do a livestream with all his cool online friends and show off his drawing skills. Or, he could do as he felt, and just mope and paint furiously. He chose that last option because he didn’t feel like being peaceful or talking to friends. He just wanted to paint his feelings.

So Mokuba found a large white sheet he never used, because white sheets did not do well with discrepancies, and grabbed a brush and some paint. He flicked and threw and splattered the wet substance all over the sheet. Reds assaulted while blues seemed to laze along the wrinkles of the fabric. Yellow was flung and green slid around. Before he knew it, Mokuba created something reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock.

He studied the still wet paint thoroughly. “I made this…?” It was an act of anger, of hatred, and it seemed to hold all those emotions he held for so long. The blue was his melancholy and loneliness, the red his rage and frustration, the yellow represented memories and the green embodied his wishes.

Mokuba then collapsed to his knees and cried, like he did when he was a child. Everything came at him at once.

Seto didn’t hate Mokuba. He wanted to support Mokuba, and give him the world, but there was only so much even Seto could do. He wanted Mokuba to go far in life and not have to deal with the emotional trauma that the elder had gone through. Mokuba realized that his brother was so socially stunted that he even had trouble communicating his real feelings to his own little brother. Seto could never hate Mokuba, maybe be mad with him, but he could never associate Mokuba with the negative feelings he held for his adopted father. Seto just wanted Mokuba to be happy, and he knew college could get him that happiness.

The threats Seto had told Mokuba were lies. They were said in hopes to scare Mokuba into continuing college. Seto wouldn’t abandon Mokuba like their relatives had done. But Seto, who was taught to threaten and bully, could not communicate his aggravation appropriately and went back to those lessons. Mokuba was greatly mistaken. Seto loved him no matter what.

He ran with all his might towards the office that he knew his brother would be in. He crashed into the door, wrenching it open and cried, “Seto!” There were tears in Mokuba’s eyes.

Seto sat at his desk like a statue. He was very still, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes lost in thought. At Mokuba’s outburst, his eyes flicked towards the youngest Kaiba and Seto said with a little gravel in his voice, “Yes, Mokuba?”

“I know what you mean now. I didn’t get it before. I’m so sorry, bro.”

“What did you get?” The elder said, not exactly confused but hopeful that his brother caught on.

“Your threats were empty, but I now know that you want me to not waste opportunities like this. You want me to see the world, finish my degree and get a good job. Or at least have a back up if the art thing doesn’t work,” Mokuba added, rubbing his head in embarrassment. He shook his head though and said, “But Seto, you need to understand that the entertainment industry is growing and I can easily become an animator or graphic artist. I could even work for Kaiba Corp as an advertisement specialist.”

Seto smiled, very slightly, but it was clear in his eyes. “Mokuba, what took you so long?”

Mokuba laughed. “I don’t know! I guess I was being stubborn.”

“Please tell me the mutt didn’t rub off on you.”

Mokuba shrugged. “They are my friends Seto. We influence each other.”

Seto smirked at the jab he was about to utter. “So there is still hope for Jonouchi to be somewhat intelligent?”

Mokuba waved his hand to dismiss his brother’s suggestion playfully. “Jonouchi is smart in his own way. He has good intentions for all his friends.”

Seto scoffed at that. “Whatever. He’s still a mutt.”

Mokuba dismissed the discussion over his friend, knowing Seto would never change his mind. Jonouchi and Seto would always hate each other, even if they were both so clearly jealous of each other. Perhaps hate was too strong of a word. Seto did not _hate_ Joey, but there was some reason to his distaste. Jonouchi didn’t like Seto at all, but it was reasonable; Seto had almost killed him and his friends.

“Seto, I wish you would just make amends with them. It’s really been years…”

Seto kept a straight face, almost cold and indifferent. “Mokuba, I have no place for friends.”

“Seto, everyone has a place for friends.” His hand motioned over his own heart. “But what about me? I’m your brother. That’s like a friend.”

“It’s not.” Seto swiveled his chair around, uncomfortable with the discussion.

“You can be close to me, but not to anyone else. Why Seto? They will never hurt you. Jonouchi might but that’s Jonouchi. Anzu and Yuugi really want to be friends.”

“Mokuba, I _can’t_.”

Mokuba’s eyebrows raised in response. “I don’t understand.”

Seto stayed still, looking through the glass of his giant window. “Mokuba, I can’t make friends.”

“As in your ability is dysfunctional or that something is in the way?” Mokuba wanted this done with. He had to know why, for so many years, Seto refused the invites Yuugi sent in hopes he could win the CEO over. Yuugi gave Seto the utmost respect. Why couldn’t Seto do the same?

“Is it because of Gozaburo?” Mokuba asked quietly.

“No actually. Gozaburo was…hard on me, but he never really said much about friendship. He just isolated me because he thought people would distract me from my ‘destiny,’” Seto answered, still staring out the window, hoping the dim light would block out everything, hoping it would cover his lies. He didn't want to get into this right now.

“Then why? What’s wrong Seto? When I was little, I just thought that you thought you were just too cool for anyone but now I can see a little… You’re hurt about something. You won’t open up about it though.”

Seto clenched the arm rests, trying to hold back. He was normally so stoic and reserved. Nothing got past his cold exterior. But his little brother was something else. Seto loved that kid so much that anything the kid said could probably bring him to tears. Or at least make him feel very uncomfortable.

“Mokuba, please,” Seto hissed through clenched teeth. He did _not_ want to yell at his only living relative, but if it got Mokuba off his back, it was fine. Seto was not one to share feelings, even with his brother. He wasn’t always like that though. He remembered smiling, telling Mokuba about his dreams of making amusement parks for underprivileged children, the sand castles, the orphanage, and the times his little brother filled his heart with joy. He remembered, though barely, his parents and how they loved their kids so much. He tried to block out everything and just look ahead, but his past, regardless of the accomplishments he took for himself, came back to bite and nip at his heart.

The other Yuugi had put it so well: Kaiba still bore his fangs to others.

“Are you afraid to make friends?” Mokuba asked when the silence proved nothing.

Seto turned to Mokuba, his eyes a little shiny from the tears, but he did well to hold them back. “Terrified, kiddo.” He gave up. Mokuba would persist because Mokuba loved him so much. Seto had been like that at one time, but when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. And Seto’s lemonade was very sour.

“You don’t want to get close to people only to have them turn you away.” Mokuba bit back his tears. He didn’t want to cry in front of his big brother.

“We’ve lost so many,” Seto whispered. “We’ve been abandoned and abused. What good are we to others? We’re broken and even a stupid friendship won’t do anything to help us.”

Mokuba shook his head. “No, that’s not true.”

“Then what is? You can make friends because you barely remember the bad stuff from our past, and I tried so hard to make your present and future blessed. I made sure you didn’t know what really happened to me. Mokuba, I’ve been through enough. I’m bitter. I just want you to be happy so you won’t share the pain I’ve had. I want to set aside all the bad memories and destroy them. But nothing I do will make them go away. I’m tired of the hurt.” Seto looked away, for the first time it seemed to Mokuba, because he was bashful about his feelings.

“Friends make us stronger, Seto,” Mokuba whispered. “You might say they aren’t friends, but if you didn’t have Yuugi at least, you wouldn’t have decided to build Kaiba Lands in America. You would have stayed bitter, trying to get past Gozaburo’s shadow. You’ve always been like that. Yuugi set you free from your hatred and you know it.”

Seto stayed silent, knowing that Mokuba was right but not wanting to admit it. He shrugged and turned on his computer. “If that’s what you think…”

“I don’t think it, Seto, I _know_ it.” Mokuba bit his lips, trying to control his emotions. Despite being of the same blood, Mokuba was always more emotional. Seto could watch an entire building of people blow up and not express grief, but Mokuba would bawl. It didn’t mean Seto didn’t _feel_ emotions; he just couldn’t _express_ them. Or perhaps he _wouldn’t_ express them.

The brothers stayed quiet as Seto’s custom computer content loaded onto the screen, the familiar music indicating start up. Seto stared blankly at the screen, much like an automaton, but Mokuba quivered and made small noises to try and control himself.

“God damn it Seto, just tell me how you feel!” Mokuba, needless to say, exploded.

Seto was shocked by his brother’s outburst. Mokuba rarely raised his voice, despite being the more emotional brother. It startled the elder greatly.

“I…” Seto was at a loss for words. He really didn’t feel anything, just shock.

“I _don’t_ feel, Mokuba. I no longer have the capacity for such emotions.”

“Bull,” was all Mokuba could retort.

“I just… There’s no need for that kind of thing. Emotions just get in the way of our judgment-”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Mokuba accused. It seemed Mokuba was on the path to persecution now.

Seto sighed. Mokuba would never give up on this. He’d have to come clean.

“I’m sad, Mokuba. I’m sad because of what Gozaburo did to me. I wish his influence would just disappear but it won’t. That sort of abuse never leaves anyone.” Seto swallowed, though his throat felt tight. “It upsets me because I know because of him and his idea of raising me completely isolated I can never make friends because I lack certain social skills. Or rather, they were beaten out of me. Gozaburo…told me courtesy gets you nowhere. Friendship makes you weak. Relying on others makes you weak. And when you’re weak, you lose. And to lose is to die.”

Mokuba stayed silent, hoping Seto would continue.

“Even now, as I’m talking to you, _my own little brother_ , I can’t help but feel weak and vulnerable. I shouldn’t feel that way, but he made me paranoid. I can’t love others. I will never be loved. People will fawn over me, but no one really cares. They just envy my power and influence, much like Gozaburo once had.”

Mokuba shook his head. “You’re wrong. It’s normal to feel like that when you express your innermost thoughts and feelings. That’s why friends make you stronger; they can hold you together, even if you’re falling to pieces. I know Yuugi would say it’s the power of unity. And obviously _I_ love you.”

Seto looked at his brother incredulously. “Of course _you_ do, but as far as other people… Mokuba, let’s just say you won’t be an uncle.”

“You could adopt,” Mokuba suggested. Seto did have a soft spot for underprivileged kids.

“I’m afraid that if I did, I’d be just as bad as Gozaburo. I’d be a horrific father.”

Mokuba scoffed. “As if. You know what abuse is like. You’d probably spoil the kid rotten!”

“And that’s almost as bad as abuse.”

Mokuba rolled his eyes. “But the kid would be happier than you were.”

Seto shrugged, inputting random commands. “I just want you to go to college, Mokuba. I don’t want you to psychoanalyze me. Go and experiment and make friends. Be happy. Be the person I can only dream of being.”

Mokuba grinned. “Maybe I’ll go into psychology.”

“If it keeps you fed and puts a roof over your head, then I will happily fund the schooling it requires.”

Mokuba smiled at his brother, glad that everything was clearer now. He may never know the abuse Seto had gone through exactly, but he was glad he lived to see this side of his brother, and to know he really was loved so very much.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The real question is, where did the Honda Fit go????? Whoops. (Seto had it towed back to the mansion later on lmao)
> 
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> 
> Follow me on tumblr at lacekyoko1138.tumblr.com and feel free to message me and we can talk headcanons and all that stuff. :)
> 
> If you're following me for my other stories, I will update them ASAP! Hopefully before the end of September I will update both TKP and CF. <3


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